BOOK SYNOPSIS
Megan O’Toole has been in David White’s way from one airport to the other—and now they’re double-booked with their families into the same hotel suite. How’s a guy to concentrate on the upcoming job interview of a lifetime when he’d like to broker a deal with his heart?

BOOK EXCERPTS
Standing, he reached for his sports jacket and checked the pockets for the paperwork he’d stowed there earlier. Since he was making a mental list, third thing he needed to do was some checking on Miss Megan O’Toole. A vendor salesman would have been up earlier than the gulls and over at the AACS checking out the displays and preparing to sell her heart out. He’d done this for too many years not to be able to smell a salesman or woman when he met one. No, Megan O’Toole was something different. And he didn’t just mean her job description. Something in her intrigued him, made him curious--made him furious--made him want more.

Campbell, largesse, Megan. His plate was full and he wasn’t even in the elevator yet.

Picking up his briefcase, he passed the door to the living room and through the slight opening saw Megan. And a fetching rear view it was.

She was behind the couch, on all fours, her left hand extended underneath the furniture. She was searching for something, and he couldn’t resist offering to help.

Tiptoeing, he was crouched on the floor behind her before she knew it. "Lose your conscience?" he whispered.

She jerked her hand out and jumped at the sound of his voice, losing her balance, flipping over, catching herself with her hands. Her legs first splayed, then dropped to the carpeting. She was in a half-sit by the time he finished laughing.

"No, I’m looking for yours." She brushed imaginary dirt from her skirt and pulled on it in an attempt to get it halfway to her knees.

"Oh, I don’t think I have one for you to find."

"Well, that’s pretty obvious." Her eyes sparked at him.

He found himself grinning back and not being able to stop. "So, what are you looking for?"

"My earrings."

"Tried your overnight case?"

She made a growl deep in her throat and began to twist her legs under her to rise.

"Let me help."

He rose and offered her both hands. The skirt was sufficiently straight and short that without help a good deal of dignity would be lost. Raising her hands to his, she clasped them and he pulled none too gently. The resulting jerk brought her into his arms and he encircled her waist, bringing her against him.

"David." She pushed gently on his upper arms.

"What?" The grin was back.

"You know what." She stopped pushing and stood still. "Let me go."

"Would you have asked me to let you go last night?"

"I don’t believe you held me last night."

"What if we had danced?" He rhythmically moved his hips and her with them. "Would you have asked me to let you go?"

"I doubt you would have asked me to dance last night. You were still pretty upset over the van."

"I get over things like that quickly."

She laughed. "Liar."

"You don’t know that." He loosened his hold now that he was fairly certain she wouldn’t break and run. She leaned away from him within the circle of his arms.

"No, if we had danced, I wouldn’t have asked you to let me go, because that is what you do when you dance." She rested her hands on his forearms. "But we’re not dancing."

"We could." He raised an eyebrow.

"We’re not."

"Okay, what if I had walked you to the door?"

"My suite door?"

"The door."

"So you’re walking me to the door instead of taking care of--what was his name?"

"Campbell."

"Instead of following ol’ Campbell to the trouble hot spot, we’re at my door."

"Yes."

"And the question is?"

"Would you have asked me to stop holding you then?"

"Why are you holding me then?"

"So I could do this." David released the hold on her waist and moved his hands up her back. Between her shoulders he gently applied a bit of pressure and brought her closer. Leaning down, he placed a kiss on her forehead and listened to the soft exhalation of breath from between her parted lips. It wasn’t what he planned on doing. He wanted to kiss her tenderly on those lips, but now he knew one thing for certain: so did she.

AUTHOR BIO
Writing is second nature to Kay Sisk, and she’s been doing it since she wrote stories with her fourth grade friends as heroines. She enjoys writing about her native Texas, where she lives with her husband of 35 years and “third family” of three cats, the first family of dogs and second family of sons, having left the nest years ago.

The holy passion of Friendship is of so ... The holy passion of Friendship is of so sweet and steady and loyal and enduring a nature that it will last through a whole lifetime, if not asked to lend money. Mark Twain